


Unsteady

by suck_upon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Except Peter is not Spiderman, High School, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, M/M, Panic Attacks, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, Whumptober, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suck_upon/pseuds/suck_upon
Summary: After Peter's identity is revealed, it's not long before the first attempt at kidnapping appears. They deal with the aftermath.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 101





	Unsteady

**Author's Note:**

> When you can't find a good superfamily-protective parents-whump!Peter fic so you take matters into your own hands.
> 
> Trigger warning: panic attack.

God, he hated the staring. If he thought it was bad when he was just the ‘new kid’, well then, let him reevaluate. For someone who appreciated his privacy and didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, this could be considered their own personal hell. He couldn’t even be mad about it, really. He probably would’ve done the same if he was in their position. It was not something you’d take lightly, even if Peter _hand’t _been the son of Tony Stark and Captain America, people would still have been talking about him after the events of last Friday. His dad (the former), had tried to limit the spreading of this very ‘sensitive’ and ‘valuable’ knowledge, as he put it, as much as he could. Usually it was Aunt Pepper who handled these kinds of things -she definitely helped, don’t misunderstand- but it had mostly been Tony himself who was threatening the press and handing out NDA’s like Willy Wonka handing out chocolate in his factory. Who knew his dad had such a protective streak?

There was also physical proof; running from the top of his hairline down into his right eyebrow diagonally, stitched up ever so neatly by Doctor Cho. It proved that Peter had hit his head after the car had driven into them at an ungodly speed and Happy had lost control of the steering wheel. It wasn’t just rumours anymore, now. And as Peter was so painfully aware of everyone gaping at him and his head wound, he felt it throbbing a tattoo against the inside of his skull manically. It hurt.

Luckily Ned and MJ knew. They had known already, also before it had happened. They had actually come to be quite well acquainted with his dads, and the rest of the family for that matter. Ned had nearly gotten down on his knees and straight out _worshipped _his uncle Bruce when Peter had introduced Ned to him— he was a science geek just like Peter himself. MJ had kept her cool mostly, but Peter could see that she was having a minor freak-out on the inside when she had met Aunt Natasha. Something about girlpower and feminism and all that stuff. Surprisingly, she got along best with his pops. Steve liking how sober and no-nonsense she was, and a shared love for drawing of course.

So he cleared his throat as he worked up the courage to embark on a journey, filled with wide orbs and soft whispers directed his way, to the other side of the gym. When he reached the far corner, after what couldn’t have been more than 7 seconds but felt like an eternity nonetheless, he let out a slow and steadying breath, calming himself.

“Peter!” MJ whispered hurriedly, and she hugged him. He had only missed two days of school and the kidnappers had never _actually _gotten very far with him, but he still hugged back. Because it felt good. Peter was sure MJ was giving the rest of the class her Medusa Death Glare™ over his shoulder because he could hear people slowly starting to shuffle about and the room beginning to fill up with mindless chatter again.

“Jesus, Peter,” Ned said to him as Peter and MJ broke apart and Ned was swinging an arm around his shoulders. “You really scared us, man.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Peter hesitated. “It _was_, uh… pretty scary,” he admitted to his friends.

“Peter, don’t apologise. Seriously!” Ned told him sternly. “We were just lucky that your dads are freaking _superheroes_ who were able to get to you on time before anything really bad happened.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what made Peter a target in the first place, dumbass,” MJ intervened.

“We don’t actually know yet what-“ Peter tried.

“Peter, be sensible, please,” MJ cut him off. “They rammed your car.” There was that no-nonsense his pops loved.

“She’s got a point, actually,” Ned responded thoughtfully. “All the stuff they had with them, the chloroform, duct tape— this was clearly planned. And you don’t _plan _a kidnapping if you don’t even know who you’re going to abduct.” Ned thought out loud, matter of factly.

“Guys! Please…” Peter wore a look of shock and -was that fear?- on his face.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Peter,” Ned apologised quickly once he realised what he had said.

“It’s fine, Ned. Can we just please finish this movement composition so we can get a B and go home?” Peter sighed. This was gonna be a long day. Maybe he should’ve listened to his dad when he insisted he’d stay home for at least a few more days or so. But he was just as stubborn as his old man. And just as restless, for that matter. So he insisted on going. But now he could feel the beginning of a booming headache flourishing behind his eyes. Hindsight’s a bitch.

They worked in silence for a while. Ned and MJ desperately wanting to get rid of this awkward tension but couldn’t really find a suitable topic to break the silence with. Peter was just concentrating really hard on willing his headache to go down. Eventually MJ was the first to speak up again.

“How are your dads holding up?” MJ never meant to pry or make Peter feel uncomfortable. She was genuinely asking if they were okay. Peter really appreciated this about her.

“They’re, well, my dads,” he eventually settled on. “I don’t think Tony has slept at all these past few days. He’s constantly running around, making arrangements and whatnot,” he explained. “Steve has refused to take any missions that are not within a one-hour-travel radius. They’re by my side all the time, if it’s not one, then it’s both of them. And they’re always walking on eggshells around me. They’re smothering me.”

“Peter you can’t blame them. They love you. They want to protect you,” MJ sympathised.

“I know that, I do. Honestly. But it’s just- I need my space. I feel like I can’t breathe. I don’t need them to mollycoddle me. It’s not their fault that this happened and they can’t protect me from everything.”

“Well, actually it is.”

“What?”

“It _is_ their fault Peter. I mean, they didn’t _mean _for this to happen, but… Your dads, they’re the richest, most powerful people in the world-“

“Yeah, but MJ-“

“You don’t get it Peter. Listen, Tony is a genius; the smartest man in the world. Steve is probably the strongest- if you don’t count your Uncle Bruce when he’s Hulked out, or your Uncle Thor -though he’s technically a God-"

“Geez, MJ, save some for you friends,” Ned interrupted.

“That’s not the point! The point is that they have a lot of enemies; a lot of things people could want from them.” MJ shut them off darkly. “What better to get to them than through where it really hurts…?”

Peter was silent. Fuck this stupid fucking shit. He didn’t ask for this. _Just breathe._

“MJ, turn it down a notch, will you?” Ned asked her sadly. “I don’t think this is something Peter needs to hear right now.” Peter was thankful for his friend. They both knew MJ was right. That didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a slap in the face.

Peter sighed, “I would just like to feel normal.” He didn’t want to be stared at, rumoured about, and for once he didn’t want to have to hide the truth about who he really was without people thinking differently of him and _without becoming a target_, he thought. But he didn’t add that.

That tad bit of normality that Peter had thought to have preserved for himself went out the window only a few seconds later when the intercoms in the gym made a static noise, followed by a “_Peter can you for once pick up your damned phone?”_.

It was Tony.

Peter was pretty sure that his mouth had turned into an actual ‘O’ shape. His dad could not be serious right now. The whole gym had turned silent again and was watching the ceiling as if Tony Stark was actually _in _there talking to them.

“_Sorry Coach Wilson, I hacked your comms,” _his tone completely failed to inflect an actual apology. “_Boy, I’m good.”_

“Dad!” Peter accused him angrily. He wanted to sink through the floor. Was that a possibility?

“Oh god,” sighed Ned.

“Oh boy,” noted MJ.

_“Hey MJ, Ned! Good to hear you”_

“Dad you can’t just do stuff like this!”

_“I disagree.”_

“I’m in P.E.”

_“I know, that’s why I hacked these comms instead of the ones in the chemistry labs.”_

“That’s not what I meant,” Peter groaned, making himself small. Trust his dad to embarrass him in front of his entire class.

“Look, kid, I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to you about getting home, because Happy’s still not able to pick you up-“

“Yeah, I know,” Peter recalled painfully. As where he only got off with a small injury to his head, Happy had taken a bullet to the shoulder. He had been _shot_. Because of Peter. He did not need be reminded of that with every conversation he had. “I’ll walk.”

_“You’re not walking home.”_

“Its fine, dad. It’s not-“

_“Your father is at SHIELD, he can pick you up on the way back-“_

“That’s like a 20 minute detour! That’s not necessary, I can just-“

_“Peter you are not. walking. home. NOT after what happened, not nearly _three _days ago!”_

Silence.

“Dad…,” Peter sounded a little broken and a lot… tired. God, he was tired. He was so not fit to deal with this right now. His head was throbbing. Going back to school this soon had been a mistake. Did he mention everyone was staring at him again? Classic.

_“Just tell me at what time you’re done, please,” _it actually took a little pause for Tony to add that plea at the end. Peter was thankful for it, though. He sighed again. He was’t angry with his dad– okay, no, scratch that. He _was _angry with him for this funky little stunt, but he didn’t want to make this whole situation harder on him than it already was. He knew this was at least as hard on his dads, if not harder, than it was on him. Hell, he’d seen how they acted when Peter had stumbled out of the totalled car, panicked and concussed, trying to find purchase on various debris, before two strong arms grabbed him and—

“Three-thirty. That’s when I’m done,” Peter shuddered. A deep breath could only do so much to shake away the memory of those men stalking toward him. And he couldn’t seem to get his legs to work and start running because his head hurt and where was he even supposed to go?

“_Alright kiddo, see you soon,” _his dads voice snapped him out of it. And this time he actually did sound apologetic, even though he didn’t vocalise an excuse. _“Sorry Coach, please continue your chalk talk.”_

"Ahem, alright guys," Coach Wilson cleared his voice, "Come on, chop chop, these movement compositions don't finish themselves!" he directed at the class, still a little flustered himself. 

_"Dummy, do not— I will donate you to Peter’s school if you raise your claw one more time!" _Peter still heard his dad shout from a distance before another static noise indicated that the connection had been broken. Great.

Peter started to walk away; he needed some air. A feeling of nausea was washing over him. This day couldn’t possibly have gone much worse. The aftermath of the whole thing was nearly worse than when it actually happened. _Nearly. _A kidnapping. Jesus. He swallowed hard. He picked up his pace and pushed through the double doors exiting the gym. He opted for the dressing rooms but they smelt of sweat and old sneakers and that wouldn’t do him much good right now. So he turned left into the direction of what he hoped resembled a more quiet part of the school.

_Jesus. _They were actually planning on taking him. And undoubtedly by force if they had to, seeing from the amount of guns they brought and the complete lackadaisical manner in which they wasted their bullets on the car and on Happy. He doesn’t even want to think about where he would be right now if his dads hadn’t showed up in time. He hadn’t let himself think about this for the past weekend and Monday he had spent cooped up on the sofa, safely wrapped in a blanket, one dad on either side. But now they were gone and he felt oddly alone and vulnerable walking down this long, empty hallway when both his sides were unflanked. Were those footsteps he heard chasing after him?

“Park- uh…, Peter!” that sounded like Coach Wilson. Poor bastard didn’t even know how to address him anymore after this holy calamity, screaming insanity. Except Peter didn’t feel sorry for him at all. He wanted to be left alone. He needed some fresh air. Was it warm in here? A hand clamped itself firmly around Peter’s upper arm and spun him around. _No_— Peter, just freaking deal! This is your coach. Not a—

“Peter, uhm, should I say Peter? Peter, I’m sorry, I realise that the situation just now was not, eh- _ideal_ for you, but it wasn’t for me, either. And I know that your f- uh, Mr Stark is known to, well, you know, ‘do what he wants’, quote, unquote, but that doesn’t mean I can have you skipping class every time a minor inconvenience occurs,” his coach finished stumbling. That was fine. That was cool. Okay, he just needed to make clear to him that he was not running off simply because his dad embarrassed him.

“Yes, Coach Wilson, I’m sorry. I wasn’t— Wait, what?” Peter exclaimed in disbelief. Was he seriously suggesting that Peter was fleeing because he was a bit flustered _and_ that he felt like he was entitled to because he was his fathers’ son? He couldn’t deal with this right now. He was on a quest for fresh air. A very pressing quest, that is. He tried to shake his arm loose and turn away but to no avail. If anything, his coach only held onto him tighter. This wasn’t good. He needed be let go of _now_, before this whole thing took a turn for the worse (_even _worse, who knew that was possible?). Peter told him so.

“Sir, could you please let go of me,” he pleaded. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Peter, I’m not sure you’re listening. If you just up and leave whenever you feel like it it will set a bad example for the other students and they will start to question my authority.”

Peter started shaking slightly. This guy was completely missing the point. He needed to be released. This was not about Peter’s behaviour in class or Coach Wilson’s questionable authority; it was about Peter trying very hard to not freak the fuck out. And boy, was he failing at that because Coach Wilson had still not let go of his arm and he was still talking to Peter as if he wasn’t listening. And frankly, he wasn’t. Because he could hear gunshots and a sharp ringing in his ears from something that had exploded not so far away from him. He wanted to bring a hand up because he felt blood drip down the side of his head and he needed to check, but found himself unable to do so because he was still being held tightly.

“Let go of me, please,” Peter pleaded desperately, he didn’t even know to who anymore.

“Peter,” he heard vaguely, because his ears were still ringing. It sounded like it was far away. However, he knew that it couldn’t be because the owner of the voice was still holding onto him. His breathing picked up. Hadn’t he repeatedly told them to let him go? It’s not as if kidnappers would actually listen to him if he asked nicely. He thrashed and squirmed in the hold but it only seemed to be counterproductive.

“-proves that you haven’t been listening to a wo-“ his coach kept rambling on.

“Please don’t touch me,” oh god, oh god. Deep breaths, Peter.

“-me to take you to the principal’s office? Because I-“ he was shaking him now slightly, too. Trying to get his attention. But Peter was too far gone. Flashes of armed men in black stalking towards him danced before his eyes. Happy was on the ground only a few feet away, still shooting at them from where he was lying. But that didn’t stop them.

“Okay, Peter, that’s it. You’re coming with me.”

They were charging after him fast and the next thing he felt was his arms being drawn back painfully and a hand slapped over his mouth, _‘You’re coming with us.’_

“Let me go!”

Peter outright screamed. He tried to pull away with all his force and the next second he felt a weight, physical-, metaphorical-, both, lift off him. He took in a sharp breath and stumbled backwards with shock. But he was suddenly much lighter than he anticipated and his surroundings seemed to be spinning. They glided sideways and then he felt a sharp pain in his back and the wind knocked out of him.

He noticed that he was on the floor. He tried to calm himself but was unable to catch up on his breath. He curled himself up in a ball with his arms covering his face and found, to his surprise, that he actually could.

“What is going on?” He heard a voice from a third party he didn’t particularly recognise. It didn’t matter who they were. He was no longer being held. He could move. He could breathe. He heard shuffling around him and then a low voice that came a little too close for his liking but didn’t sound hostile, “Peter, can you hear me?”

Wait, he did recognise that voice. It was the principle. He took a few more deep breaths and found that breathing was actually becoming easier. He unclenched his muscles and opened his eyes- when had he closed them?

“Peter, take a few deep breaths, okay? We’re gonna get you to the nurse.” He made eye contact with the principle who was looking at him sympathetically. He shuddered again and nodded at him shakily. Coach Wilson stepped forward to help Peter up but the principle held up his hand, “Maybe it’s best if I do that.” The coach looked a little taken aback but stepped back nonetheless. A look of shame washed over his face when he realised he caused Peter to have a panic attack, even if he hadn’t meant to.

Peter felt two steadying hands under his arms as he was guided upwards into a standing position. He was still feeling too out of it to actually care about how he was being half carried away from where he had just collapsed. He knew the principle was okay. He could be trusted. His fathers had personally made arrangements with him regarding Peter. He couldn’t really muster up the energy to care about anything else right now, really. He was so tired. And God, nauseous too. Peter just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not having to make a pit stop at one of the bathrooms.

“Coach Wilson,” the principle directed over his shoulder, “would you care to join us? I would like to hear from you what happened.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is actual trash because it's been produced in a sleep-deprivation induced desperation and it's unbeta'd :,) But let me know if you actually like this because I might write a follow-up.


End file.
